


Rumlow Makes Sam Do It

by AgentMal



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Contemplated suicide, HYDRA Trash Party, Homophobic Language, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28472430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMal/pseuds/AgentMal
Summary: Rumlow captures Steve and Sam to exert a little punishment, but he's smarter than to be in the room himself.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2020





	Rumlow Makes Sam Do It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HaniTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/gifts).



“It’s like this: You do. What I say. If you don’t…”

An electric buzzing sound gave a moment’s warning before shocking, searing pain pierced through him. As he came down from it, he registered hearing screaming just before he realized it was him, and then stopped.

“And the more I have to do it, the higher I crank the voltage. Rogers here, he can take more than the average bear, but not you.”

“Fuck you.” 

“On the contrary,” Rumlow said with a sneer, “Fuck Rogers. He’s the one who dragged you into this, he’s the one who didn’t watch your six, who led you both into a trap.”

-:-

Sam knew following Steve on a wild goose chase for his long lost friend would be dangerous, but— he reflected as he stared at the wall of a damp cement cell— he hadn’t figured on precisely this. He’d thought the danger would primarily come from said friend who, after all, had already tried to kill them both several times. What he hadn’t guessed was that the man he’d already fought, had already thought had died, would be a threat they should have been on the lookout for. So while they were on alert for hostile action from remaining HYDRA, that hadn’t included Brock Rumlow. 

One moment they were stepping into the back rooms of a hostel on a promising lead, the next, darkness. They didn’t even know what hit them.

“Rise and shine, kiddos.”

When Sam and Steve had regained consciousness in this basement cell to the sound of their captor’s voice, and they started to realize what had happened, Steve had looked furious, and probably more than a little of his anger was at himself. Rumlow had gotten them exploiting his familiarity with Steve, and through Steve Bucky, pulling on information Steve wasn’t prepared to guard against. Now they were in some yet-undiscovered HYDRA facility, in an interrogation room judging by the silvered mirror, the cameras, the bolt-points in the cement around the room, the telling stains around the drain in the floor. 

Taking in their positions only turned Sam’s stomach more: it wasn’t that they were both shackled, it was how. Sam was almost entirely free, except for the shackles on his ankles that were wired with what he would learn were electrodes, chained to the wall behind him. But in front of him was Steve, facing away, chained bent over some kind of horse, wires trailing from his wrists, ankles, and neck. The position did nothing to limit their eye contact, which Steve could maintain looking over his shoulder. 

It was through this shared glance that Sam saw Steve’s anger, and also something bitter and apologetic he directed to Sam. For his part, Sam poured nothing but resolve and steadiness back to Steve. Steve didn’t do this, Sam knew what he was signing up for when he left DC with Steve, and after all the dangers they faced in the 9 months since then he wasn’t going to start regretting or doubting now. Come what may. 

“Who are you calling kiddo?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Anyone I damn please,” Rumlow shot back immediately, via speaker into the room, “but especially anyone who’s been in the life more than a decade less than me. And you may be in your 30s but Rogers went into the ice aged 24? 25? By a certain reckoning I’m almost twice your age, Stevie.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and Sam knew he was holding himself back from telling Rumlow not to call him that. 

Apparently Rumlow caught the expression: they could hear him laughing over the speakers. Sam glared at the one-way mirror, hoping he was looking daggers right in Rumlow’s eyes.

“So here’s how it’s going to go. Rogers, stay put.” Sam could hear the smirk when he said that. “Wilson, you’re going to do a few things for me. 

“Like hell am I doing _anything_ for you.”

“Oh, you are.”

“Make me.”

Sam’s disdain was cracked by uncertainty when Rumlow’s laughter changed, and he said lightly, “Okay.”

Then he hit them with voltage, which dropped Sam to his hands and knees and shocked shouts from both of them.

Their ragged breathing was loud in the silence after the buzzing. 

Sam and Steve locked eyes again, faces grim, no better communion than their mutual naked acknowledgement of the situation.

Rumlow didn’t stay quiet for long. “It’s like this: You do. What I say. If you don’t…”

-:-

“Fuck you.”

“On the contrary,” Rumlow said with a sneer, “Fuck Rogers. He’s the one who dragged you into this, he’s the one who didn’t watch your six, who led you both into a trap.”

“What do you want, Rumlow?” And wasn’t it just Steve all over to cut through the bullshit and get to the point. 

“I want the _world_ I’ve been _working_ toward my entire life! The one I was going to help build over, or die serving those who would!” He calmed himself down from shouting to a conversation tone, continuing nastily, “But they’re gone, that _dream_ is gone, so I’ll just have to settle for dishing out some punishment.”

Sam hadn’t been idle since the second shock stopped. He’d crawled onto his feet and had continued his visual sweep of the room that he’d started as soon as he’d woken up there. There was a spout and a hose in the wall on his left, the one-way mirror on his right, and the door on the wall opposite him, across Steve from him. By the door was a clock saying it was midmorning. Sam estimated the chains from his ankles to the wall behind him were 5 or 6 feet long at most- enough to reach Steve and halfway along the wall on either side, but not enough to reach the door. 

There were chains attached to a few other places, but the only other main feature of the room was a table. It was beside him to his right, or a couple feet from him, in the corner between the wall behind him and the wall with the one-way mirror. It was half covered by a dingy towel but on the other half were knives, needles, pliers, and other implements whose purpose was clear. 

“So you think you’re going to come in here and torture us?”

Rumlow shouldn’t have given him enough range to reach the torture table if that was his plan. But Sam didn’t really expect an answer, he was just playing for time as he tried to assess the shackles, the wiring, the horse, where they met the floor or the wall, any features at all he could exploit, any way to get them out of here. He knew Steve was probably doing the same. He’d been subtly shifting since waking, quietly testing the strength of his bonds Sam would guess.

“Please. I’m going to make you do it.” 

Sam started to respond but Rumlow cut him off, “Even better, Steve is going to beg you to do it.”

What Sam could see of Steve’s face was grimacing in distaste.

Sam didn’t bother to ask how Rumlow expected either of those things to happen. He’d caught on like Steve that Rumlow was going to tell them whether they asked or not, and that saying anything was playing into Rumlow’s hands.

After a beat of silence, where Rumlow was clearly waiting for them to say something, he indeed carried on anyway.

“The reason,” he said, “that Steve is going to beg you to do it, is because I only want to kill one of you. If you do what I say, Wilson, then when this is over I’ll let you go.”

“Like hell you will.” Sam also meant like hell would he torture his friend to death on the chace he might be spared.

“See that knife on the end of the table? Pick it up.”

Sam crossed his arms and didn’t move a step.

“I have no problem with you, Wilson. You stepped up to do your part, even NCO as you were you stepped up for the XO-Wing. The only reason you caught HYDRA’s notice is your association with Rogers. And even that wouldn’t have been a black mark against you if we could have turned the wonder boy. You didn’t know the details, you thought you were serving your country.”

Sam looked to Steve, intending to share incredulity, but Steve’s eyes were locked on the glass.

“You annoy me, sure, but sparing you is a small price to pay to not take the risk of coming in there myself. So for that safety, I am willing to assure you of your own survival. If you do what I say. Pick up the knife.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Man, you sound like you really believe that could ever happen. But even if we could trust, you, _which we emphatically can’t_ , there is no world in which I would hurt Steve, torture him, knowing he’s going to die, just so I live.”

“What if there was a chance of escape? You’ve seen the wire cutters.” Sam had. And he’d already been sizing up options involving using them to cut the wires leading to their electrodes. “You can use them to cut the wires, and with the other tools you can break out of the shackles and out of the room. If I see you touch them before I tell you to, I’ll shock you until you can’t think, and if you make it as far as cutting one of your wires without my say, I’ll kill you before you can cut the second. But there’s a chance you manage to cut both.” 

Slim fucking odds, Sam thinks, but Steve is staring even more intensely into the mirror. 

Rumlow continues in a deceptively light tone, “There is another reason you’ll do it. Which is the people outside this room.”

Sam is taken aback at that. What?

“Like Cheryl, your sister, who lives on 1647 Ember Ln, or your brother Mike, who will be coming out of All Saints and Angels in an hour. Or he will if I don’t detonate the C4 under the lectern between now and then.”

Sam was stunned, as if gut punched. Now Steve was looking at him, but in a dread that didn’t match Sam’s horror. 

“You didn’t— You couldn’t—” 

“The lectern was actually pretty fun to wire. It would have been a bitch, old style eagle-topped thing that it is, chipped wing and all, if it hadn’t been retrofitted with a mic. I just had to wire in my device to be powered off the podium.”

Suddenly Sam could picture it. Could picture Rumlow in a baggy jumpsuit and a baseball cap in that beautiful old church he knew so well, impersonating some kind of cleaning or utilities person, kneeling under that ancient lectern with the chipped wing, wiring C4 off the power going to the sound system. The image made Sam nauseous, especially picturing beloved, familiar faces letting him in to do it, trading small talk as he acted folksy, pulling tools from a duffle bag that also had a 9mm with a silencer in it.

“Don’t you touch them,” Sam was proud of how steady, how low and deadly serious he sounded. In this room, he had as much power as dirt to stop Rumlow.

“Pick up the knife.”

Sam still didn’t move, but it was partly for being stunned, looking murder at the glass. 

“Sam,” and it was Steve’s voice, gentle, that shook Sam loose.

Steve was looking at him in sympathy, in sadness, and in resolution. He continued, “pick up the knife.”

 _I’m not doing this,_ Sam thought. 

“If you don’t believe I’ll let you live if you do it, believe that I’ll kill them if you don’t.”

Sam closed his eyes. Steve and him were captured on a Saturday evening. If it was Sunday morning like Rumlow said, if Mike was coming out of church in an hour, then right now it was probably full of nearly 200 people, people from the neighborhood he’d known all his life, elders, children.

The anguish of even considering a C4 detonation in the middle of that hurt Sam more than the electricity. 

Sam hadn’t moved but something must have changed on his face, because suddenly Rumlow said, “Yes! That’s it.”

Sam took a breath, put his shoulders back, and opened his eyes onto Steve. Steve was waiting for him, gaze meeting his, looking more resolved than ever. They both knew what was going to happen now.

Stiffly, Sam took the couple steps to the table in the corner, and picked up the knife. 

He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Good,” said Rumlow, viciously. 

Steve was continuing to pour strength into him with his eyes, nodding slightly.

“Now cut off his clothes.”

Sam grimaced and stepped toward Steve, sliding the knife under the top at the waistline to draw a line up toward the neck. He leaned toward Steve’s head as he did it. 

“You want a quick exit?” he whispered urgently, “if we’re both gone, he has no reason to hurt them.”  
Steve put his head down as Sam made a show of working the knife through the difficult seams at the neckline before starting on the sleeves. He made it take as long as he could to give cover to a whispered exchange.

“Suicide? He’ll blow it if you take away his fun”

“And he won’t set it off after anyway?”

Steve huffed a sigh.

“With Rumlow, even odds he’ll actually let you go, as go back on his word.”

He paused for a moment as Sam moved around to start on the second sleeve. 

“If we go through with this, and he kills you at the end, he won’t set it off. He might even let you go. If you kill us both now he might blow it out of spite.”

“Damnit, Steve, I can’t do this.”

“Church ends in an hour, right? How long till the building clears out? 2?”

“More like hour fifteen”

“We just have to make it to then, then we can try to escape.” 

“Tick tock, ladies,” said Rumlow. 

Sam stood up, the top pinned under Steve’s chest but otherwise unattached to him, cut open. 

“Now the pants.”

Sam once again started working knife through reinforced fabric, going down the outseam. This was more difficult than the top for some reason, and a couple of times the point of the knife went into Steve, causing a silent flinch.

Sam took his time, but eventually it was done and the pants came away. Then it was the undershirt and finally boxers. 

When he stood back up the final time, Rumlow directed him to toss all the clothes to the far side of Steve, out of Sam’s reach. Sam took that to mean there might be some knick knack hidden in Steve’s clothes, but while he tried to subtly feel over them in the guise of gathering them up to throw, he heard the warning buzz and soon was reeling on the floor from another 3 seconds of high voltage. It left him shivering, feeling shaky and feverish. 

“God _damnit_ , Rumlow!” Steve shouted, clearly not as affected by the jolt as Sam was. 

“Don’t jerk me around, or I’ll jerk you around. Toss the clothes _now,_ not after you’ve fondled your way through them.”

Sam did it as soon as he could stand, raising his eyes to glare murder at the mirror window. 

“Now, just to start off easy, I want you to carve my name in him.”

Sam recoiled.

“I don’t care where, don’t care how deep or shallow, as long as there’s blood. I know it’ll heal over in an hour, that’s fine.”

Sam looked at his hands.

“My triceps, Sam, do it there,” said Steve, again so gently. 

Sam walked to one side and was redirected by Rumlow to the other, the side facing the mirror. 

“I wanna see it”

Sam braced himself, putting a hand on Steve’s bare shoulder, and Steve mumbled without turning his head far enough to meet eyes, “it’s fine, it’ll heal. Do it.”

Sam put in the point, enough to break skin, and then started drawing it down to form the spine of the B.

-:-

Forty minutes later, and Sam had blood all over him.

He’d been shocked twice more, it feeling stronger or at least affecting him more each time. 

Knife cuts, sandpaper road rash, needles, caning, matches. Sam hoped Rumlow killed him after this, because he didn’t know if he could live with himself. 

The worst was the vinegar. Rumlow had Sam pour it over all the open skin, and by that point Steve was begging Sam to keep going, cajoling, saying anything to help Sam keep going. But when Sam poured vinegar on him, that was the first time Steve really lost it. He had yelled before, but now he screamed. 

Rumlow gave them both a minute after that before saying, “Alright. Now that Stars and Stripes is properly warmed up, let’s get to the good stuff.”

Sam couldn’t imagine what could be worse than all of this, or he didn’t want to anyway. He stayed where he was, hunched on his butt with his head in his arms. 

“Sam, it’s time to uncover the second half of the table.”

Sam only barely stopped himself from shaking his head, but couldn’t quite make himself get up.

“Do it, or I shock you again.”

“Sam! Sam, get up!”

Once again, that is what did it. If Steve could sound so resolute through all this, then Sam could damn well get through it, too.

He stood up, went to the table, and pulled off the rag. 

Unsurprisingly, it was sex stuff. Sam hadn’t pictured Rumlow as the rapey kind, but it was hard to ignore implications of the horse and the position it had locked Steve into. So the lube, several dildos, vibrators, cock ring, cock cage, and so on weren’t exactly a shock.

Sam threw all his disdain to the mirror and hopefully Rumlow’s face.

When Rumlow spoke, it was with relish. 

“Now, fuck him.”

“Excuse me?”

“With your dick, preferably, but if you can’t get it up you can use one of those.”

For the first time, Sam felt ahead of the game. 

He looked to Steve in what he hoped was horror, and saw the mirrored expression of hidden edge under a mask of shock. 

Rumlow didn’t know they were lovers. Rumlow thought a man getting fucked by another man was torture worse than breaking bones or flaying skin. And Sam would never have wanted to have sex with Steve under conditions like this, but at least they could run up the clock this way, with Steve moaning in pretended anguish (or some amount of actual anguish, with all his injuries) without Sam having to hurt Steve any other way. 

“Steve, what… what do you want here?” Sam asked for Rumlow’s benefit, “Me, or a dildo?”

“Oh, God,” Steve said, sounding nervous, ashamed, hopefully not overdoing it, “Sam, I don’t know.”

“We have to, Steve, but if you don’t want it to be me, we can use one of these.”

“Oh, I don’t know, there’s no right way here.” He then masterfully squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head as if anguishing over what to decide. Sam hoped Rumlow was eating it up. “This is wrong, this is so wrong.”

“It’s your choice, man.”

“I, uh…” and then Steve slacked his tensed shoulders and let his head hang down in defeat, saying with quiet resignation, “You. I’d rather it be you. No more cold, hard implements.”

Steve was a good actor, because a second later Rumlow unleashed his laughter, and then a string of homophobic insults as Sam tried to look conflicted about taking his dick out and getting himself hard. 

Actually, it _was_ conflicting. Steve was hurting, hurt in dozens of ways, and though Sam knew he would heal if he got out of this alive, Sam was still reeling over the vivid sights and sounds of the moments it was inflicted, over doing it to Steve himself. He could try to make this as minimally painful as possible, both as sex and regarding Steve’s other injuries. 

To try to draw it out, Sam tried to pretend he couldn’t get hard. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You have 60 seconds,” said Rumlow in a booming voice, “to have something up his ass, or I shock you for twice as long as last time.”

Well, shit.

Sam turned away from the wall with the mirror window and closed his eyes, put his hands on himself and got himself to a place where he could do this. Then, coming over to Steve but minding the second hand on the clock, he leaned down and breathed, “Hey. Are we doing this?”

He was ready, he just wanted to hear Steve say it.

“We’re doing it. You can do it. And I’m so glad it’s you and not him in here with me. I love you.”

Sam had to mask his shock. They hadn’t gotten as far as saying it, Sam had hardly let himself think it, but it was right, and it felt right. He breathed back, “I love you, too.”  
And then he was smearing lube on himself, shoving more lube on and into Steve, and then pressing in. 

It wasn’t a hardship for Sam to grimace through it: it felt good but it also felt overwhelming, and on a different level it was horrible. And the horrible part was helped by Rumlow jeering on, “That’s right, take it you f—”

The obscenities and slurs poured freely as Sam tried to think of how Rumlow would imagine his face to look if he was a straight dude being forced to rape another straight dude, and then make his face that way. Luckily he figured that scenario gave him cover to take his time pushing in, to give Steve time to adjust. 

Rumlow then sent up a string of commands: touch this, move like that, hump this fast, now faster, now stop. Anytime Sam delayed too much Rumlow threatened to shock them, but this was physically not the most painful or awkward sex they’d had. The first time they had sex after the helicarriers fell, Steve pulled Sam on top of him in a hospital bed, and he was beat to hell as much or more than he was here, but he still wanted Sam in him, on him, kissing him. A nurse walked in on them and then left more than once, but Steve wouldn’t let go of Sam, wouldn’t release their kiss. Really the hardest part, besides knowing this was all for the satisfaction of a sick fuck like Rumlow, was not being able to kiss Steve through it. 

At one point Sam heard something, Steve was breathing something, and Sam leaned down as close as he could to Steve’s head to hear. 

“Press on the rash.”

“What?”

“Press on the road rash, rub it, or I’m going to get hard.”

Sam had been aroused before that, on a physical level, he had to to penetrate Steve, and once he was in there base stimulation kept him hard, but hearing those words poured actual heat into his veins for the first time that morning. He made himself grimace to hide the smile threatening his lips. He tried to move his hand along Steve’s side innocuously toward the sandpaper-made road rash, but when he pressed into it and Steve flinched, Rumlow responded appreciatively.

“Fantastic. Now scratch across the name.”

Shit. Now there was going to be this. Sam felt more than heard Steve heave a sigh, thinking the same thing.

So Sam did it, and then did it again harder when Rumlow wasn’t satisfied, “I want to see red lines, I want it to open the cuts again or I’ll make you go get the boxcutter and cut them again.”

Once Rumlow got into giving this new kind of order, they kept coming for a while. Hit the bruise, yank his hair, etc. Eventually Rumlow ran out of that kind of idea and transitioned again. 

“Now put your hand on him, jerk him off.” Though maybe that was all the same, to Rumlow.

But Sam was more than happy to put his hand on Steve and, more importantly, for Steve to not have to suppress his own arousal. 

“That’s right, get him off, you’re not allowed to stop until he goes off.”

Sam set himself to the task, then lost himself to things for a bit, but at some point he looked up and noticed the time- it was almost 2 hours since this all started. The church was probably empty and locked up by now, as safe as it would ever be to try to escape. 

Sam suddenly made himself look like he was about to orgasm, then withdrew from Steve and backed up, making to look as if he was about to get off, trying to remember how to look ashamed when it came to these things. 

“Oh, ho! And here I was going to tell you to edge Stevie, but maybe it’s you we need to worry about. Go get the cock ring.”

Well. Sam wasn’t thrilled about the cock ring, but he’d been angling for an excuse to go to the table. Once there, he made a show of using the discarded rag and looking for the cock ring as cover for slipping the wire clippers into his left cargo pocket. 

Once he had the cock ring on, Rumlow got an even worse idea and had Sam get one of the vibrators to press to Steve’s dick. Better than in his ass, Sam thought.

Then it was back into Steve again, following Rumlow’s inane orders with the additional hassle of handling the vibrator, which was not the worst but Sam would have preferred having both hands free while he stealthily slipped the wire cutters out of his pocket and slowly down each of steve’s legs and his own to cut the wires, always staying on the far side from the window, and then to Steve’s left arm, which was a stretch to reach, and Steve’s neck. He gave himself cover for getting the wire on Steve’s neck by reaching up to shove the vibrator at Steve’s face, which Rumlow ate up, apparently forgetting that Sam was not supposed to be helping Rumlow humiliate Steve.

Finally, all that was left was the electrode on Steve’s right arm, but Sam couldn’t see how to get at that without pulling out of Steve, making what he was doing obvious to Rumlow, or both. 

“Hey, Steve, tell me you can actually pull out the chains by their studs?”

“Oh, sure.” Steve was once again hanging in admirably well for a guy having been stimulated for an hour after being tortured for most of an hour.  
“Think he can kill you before you yank the chain enough to break that wire?”

And Sam could feel Steve smirk, spiritually, when Steve replied, “Let’s find out.”


End file.
